Think Too Much: A Period of Grace
by Cosmo-Donatien
Summary: Part four. The morning after Red showed her his scars, Liz wakes alone. Does he regret revealing such a private part of himself to her? Has she only made things worse? Note rating change for HMS. [Lizzington]


Note: This is part four of the Think Too Much series. Please note the rating change to M. Things are about to get steamy.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Blacklist or any of the characters recognisable from the show used in this work of fanfiction. I am making no profit from this work.

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**Think Too Much: A Period of Grace**

Liz woke alone in the expanse of Red's bed, unsure of how to feel about his absence; was he regretting being so open with her the night before? Would he act like it hadn't happened? She reached out to find the sheets beside her had not completely cooled and figured he hadn't long been awake himself, or at least wasn't long out of the bed. She wondered if he had watched her while she slept and not knowing how he felt about the situation filled her with mixed feelings. A glance over at his bedside clock told her they had slept in – it was well past eleven – not that they had any plans that she knew of. He had needed the sleep and so had she, never sleeping as soundly whenever he was away on business.

A pipe overhead clunked clumsily, alerting her to the shower being used. She stretched out in the bed before hauling herself into a sitting position, the sheet slipping down to her thighs, and she felt a little embarrassed to be in such a state of undress; the dark lace of her French knickers hardly left anything to the imagination, not that they hadn't seen each other in various states of undress. She'd had the full-frontal naked Reddington experience twice now and he had undoubtedly seen her naked on the footage from the cameras that had been hidden in her D.C. home, albeit from an awkward angle; the memory of a particularly heated morning sex session flashed before her eyes – she had gone reverse cowgirl as Tom had writhed and moaned beneath her, and she prayed Red hadn't bore witness to that exchange as he would have seen everything. She hadn't even been sure it was her when she had watched it back, so wild was she. She'd had to watch it more than once. It was a lifetime ago to her now.

She rose and crossed the hall to her room to throw on a pair of yoga pants and a cami top to head downstairs in; she thought they might take breakfast or lunch or whatever on the patio and bask in the late morning sunshine before it became too warm. Her bladder made itself quite urgently known and she cursed under her breath; Raymond Reddington rivaled most women when it came to spending time in the bathroom, when he had the chance to relax, and he would spend hours in there, often reading in the bath. She knew she couldn't wait for him to finish his shower and she didn't want to run the risk of being spotted pissing in the bushes in the yard. Gathering her resolve she dashed down the hall and burst into the bathroom, apparently startling him from what he'd been doing – she caught another glimpse of him that would plague her in an entirely different way than his back had done – and he quickly turned to face the back wall of the shower, forehead leaning against the tile as water cascaded down his scarred back.

"Lizzie," his voice echoed in the bathroom, a warning edging his tone.

"Sorry," she apologised, rushing to the toilet and pulling her pants down while he wasn't looking. "I really needed to go," she offered by way of explanation as she relieved herself, reaching for the toilet tissue.

"Clearly," he ground out as she pulled her pants up.

"You can turn around now," he said, though cursed herself immediately. She could tell by the way he stood so rigidly that he was in no position to turn around without embarrassing them both.

"Don't flush," he said, ignoring her words, "or the water will run cold."

"Are you sure that's not what you need right now?" she asked, a smirk playing about her lips. It was so rare that she had the chance to play with him like this. He cleared his throat before speaking again, choosing his words carefully.

"I'd like to finish what I started, Lizzie. There's nothing worse than being disturbed, is there?" She knew he wouldn't keep his knowledge of what she'd been up to all those mornings ago to himself, especially now.

"Well played, sir," she conceded, though didn't move from where she stood. She was torn; she knew she should just leave and go downstairs to put the coffee on but she was caught between flushing the toilet before she left, a sure winning move, or throwing caution to the wind and approaching him where he stood. She was more than a little curious, having not been in a position to fully appreciate his form when she had previously caught him without his armour.

"It's rude to stare," he commented, echoing her words from the evening before, though this time in a wildly different context. She saw the arm of the hand she couldn't see flex and made her decision.

"I was just... making my mind up." She slipped her cami over her head and let it slip silently to the floor before pushing her pants down her thighs, the sound of the linen pooling at her feet lost in the hum of the shower. She found she wasn't quite brave enough to completely bare herself and opted to keep her panties on before she began her approach.

"And what decision might you need to consider in here?" he asked as she rounded the glass partition of the walk in shower, careful to keep out of his peripheral vision as she snuck up on him.

"It seems you might need a hand," she said, voice low and lips as close to his ear as she could get. He startled and whirled around, his back hitting the cold tiles, eyes wide. He gripped her by the shoulders and held her gaze, daring her to break eye contact. The stood there like that for several long moments and she decided to goad him just a little more. "Do you have any idea how much water you're wast-" She was cut short as he drew her to him and crushed her lips with his own, his wet hands sliding down her back, tracing her shoulder blades before splaying at the small of her back to hold her firmly to him; she was flush against him, breasts pushed up against his wet chest hair, his half-hard cock twitching against the lace at the juncture of her thighs. She responded with an eagerness she didn't realise she had, her hands attempting to be everywhere at once, the short hair atop his head, his straining neck, his strong shoulders; she gave his biceps a squeeze before she scraped her nails down his sides, eliciting a shudder from him.

Without warning he whirled her around so her back was pressed up against the tiles which had been warmed by him, and his mouth traveled from hers across her cheek to her ear where he nibbled briefly at the lobe before running his tongue down the side of her neck. She moaned at the sensation and she felt him smile into her shoulder – he had watched the tapes and he had learned from them, she realised. He moved his chest back from her enough to give himself room to fondle her breasts, still keeping her pinned with his pelvis as he rocked gently against the place she ached for him most, increasing her need for him tenfold. She raked her nails through the wet hair on his chest, taking time to circle his nipples, mirroring what he was doing to her before she went in for the kill. She didn't have the inclination for much more foreplay on this occasion, for she was sure this would not be their first and last tangle, and snaked her hand down to grip him firmly. Red moaned at her bold move and she was lost in the sound, giving him a few strokes in the hope he would make it again – she wasn't disappointed. Apparently done with pleasantries himself, Red slid a hand down the front of her panties and cupped her, hard. It felt good. She rocked against his hand and let out a guttural moan as his middle finger slipped into her while the heel of his hand rubbed against her clit, finding a rhythm that she knew would send her over the edge sooner than she wanted. She needed him inside her, and released her hold on him to pull his hand away from her and slip out of her panties before drawing him to her again. He bent to lift her leg and held it under the knee at his waist, bending slightly as she positioned him hurriedly. He slid home easily, so ready for him was she, and they rutted against each other frantically. He showed no mercy, ramming into her as though his life depended on it, and she rocked into his every thrust, the sensation of his hair against her clit with each stroke sending her soaring over the edge. He continued more gently as they rode out her orgasm and as her supporting leg wobbled in the aftermath he lifted her completely, guiding her to wrap her legs around him as he pinned her to the wall and began his assault anew, this time with fast and short strokes as she continued to pulse around him, squeezing him until he came inside her, growling into her shoulder as he twitched against her, his teeth scraping at her skin as he stopped himself from biting down. She hugged him to her as they stayed against the wall, his hands still holding her up as she remained wrapped around him, and she stroked at the hair at the back of his head as they caught their breath.

After several long moments he set her down, not releasing her until she confirmed she was able to stand, and he took her by the hand under the spray of the shower. There likely wasn't much water left so he quickly grabbed a washcloth and lathered it with soap before dropping down before her, placing a kiss just above her sensitive sex before he gently cleaned away the evidence of what they'd done, washing her thoroughly. Once he was finished with her she rinsed out the cloth and returned the favour, lavishing his body with feather-light kisses, particularly his back.

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By the time they shut the shower off it was almost one in the afternoon. It had been almost two by the time they had dressed themselves, unable to keep their hands from wandering. Finally they sat out on the patio, each with a cup of coffee; Red peered through his glasses at the newspaper and Lizzie soaked up the sun, completely at peace.

"So, you'll be pleased to know the only all-out attack on your peace and quiet that I have planned will be me, on you, at any given time and with no warning." She felt giddy in the face of the new development in their relationship, pleased to find things had only improved and there was no awkwardness or sudden change in their dynamic.

"I shall suffer well, then," he said, fixing her with a heated look over the top of the newspaper; it should have been illegal. "Though I may need more sustenance than coffee. How do you fancy a shopping spree?"

"We probably should stock up." She gasped as an idea came to her. "Can we get some strawberries?"

"If you ask for chocolate syrup or cream, I will leave you here and never return," he warned, piquing her interest as he surely knew he would.

"I sense a story," she prodded, and settled in to listen to a riotous anecdote regarding a fledgling affair, excessive amounts of chocolate body paint and a newly decorated, minimalist, modern home. It was all very white and clean. Three trunks piled up with a lime on top instead of a coffee table. They had been disturbed and he had made a quick, if clumsy, exit. His one-time lover had a very hard time explaining the man shaped chocolate stain on the curtain next to the open window to her husband. As they laughed together out on the patio, Liz hoped she might convince him to remain in Havana for a little longer, if only to prolong the fantasy of a normal life that they had built.


End file.
